


Deep-Six

by Claudia_flies



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hopeful Ending, M/M, MCU kink bingo 2017, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Touch-Starved, Unrealistic Recovery Times, Unreliable Narrator, past trauma, post-HYDRA Trash Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudia_flies/pseuds/Claudia_flies
Summary: The asset adjusts to life with his new handler.





	Deep-Six

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo.... Remeber that time when I said that I would never write HTP. Well, I lied. Because I am a dirty lier. Please heed the tags.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Zilia.

 

**deep six (n.)**

_‘place where something is discarded; old naval slang for burial at sea.’_

 

 

 

Bucky’s new handler places a stack of pancakes in front of him.

He says, “here you go, Bucky,” with a smile.

He’s not really a _new_ handler. He’s been at the compound nearly three months now, but everything is new and nothing follows protocol, so he still thinks of everything as _new_.

The handler, Captain Rogers, points at the food and says “eat,” and so Bucky does.

This is new too. When he first arrived, no one gave him permission to eat, but there was always food readily put in front of him. There had been no feeding tube, and he had understood. They had to see how long he could survive, see how he would cope. If he would beg.

He did.

Now Captain Rogers sits down with him four times a day to eat. Breakfast, lunch, dinner and evening snack. Not to mention the multitude of times Captain Rogers stops during the day and hands him a banana, or a protein shake that tastes like chocolate or strawberry, or a granola bar. He always says “eat this, Bucky,” and Bucky always does.

He’s called _Bucky_ now, and he’s slowly started to accept the name. Even uses it inside his head. It’s the handlers’ right to call him anything they want, but the way Rogers says “Bucky” makes something warm curl in his chest. He tries to squash it the best he can. Hope serves no purpose, after all.

He eats all of the pancakes, and slowly the sensation that he’s started to recognize as hunger subsides. Rogers smiles, mopping the last of his syrup off his own plate with a quarter of a pancake.

 

 

His new owners, the Avengers, are powerful and well-equipped. Their capabilities are extensive and their reach worldwide. He’s privileged to belong to them, to be their asset, but they’re not utilizing him. He has not been assigned any combat missions, and there hasn’t been any requirement for him to serve as stress relief. It’s only a matter of time before that happens. He’ll be ready for either eventuality. Ignoring the nagging sense of unease.

It starts as a dull ache deep in his pelvis, sharp when he moves. He’s used to pain, used to functioning with pain, so he shows none of it. Face blank and still during the day when he goes to the gym with Captain Rogers.

When he eats meals with the team in the common room.

When he watches the Widow tease the Scarlet Witch with Russian nursery rhymes they both know. He knows them too, but says nothing. It is not his place to speak unless spoken to.

 

 

He’s hard in the shower in the mornings now, cock swollen and sensitive. He doesn’t touch himself, not here, not anywhere. He knows Friday would report him in a fraction of a second for breaking protocol. He feels her all-seeing electronic eyes on him in every room, in every nook and cranny he’s been able to find.

He lies in bed in the evenings, cock and balls throbbing. He wonders then if this is his handler’s plan. If this is like the food. If they’re just waiting him out, waiting for him to beg, to accept the things he’s made for. Waiting for him to bend over and spread himself open. Beg and scream and bleed.

He doesn’t show it. He trains and proves himself over and over. There’s a sharp pain in his balls all the time now as he moves, making nausea roll in his belly, but he grits his teeth and carries on. Runs another lap of the track. Another and another.

He will not beg. He will not.

Until he does.

 

 

Bucky takes off his sweatpants and underwear. His cock is half-hard and leaking at the tip. He can’t even bring himself to touch it. He wonders if Friday would report him if he did.

There’s a jar of Vaseline in the cabinet in the bathroom and he opens it with a twist of his hand. It’s easier if he preps. Often the handlers forget this part, or don’t want to do it at all. Some of them liked it when he screamed. He doesn’t know if Captain Rogers would like it if he screamed.

He scoops up a glob of Vaseline and slides it between his buttocks. His fingers slip into his anus with a sickening squelch and he has to squeeze his eyes closed, pretend it’s happening to another body, somewhere far away. He pushes the Vaseline inside, goes back for more, stretches himself open.

His cock and balls throb with the rhythm of his fingers, so he pulls them free. Nausea and arousal fighting for space in his gut. It won’t be enough to make it not hurt, but it will hopefully prevent any significant damage.

He washes his hands slowly, feeling like he’s bracing for impact.

Captain Rogers’ room is just down the hall. The door is ajar, so he pushes it open. Bracing.

“Sir,” he says.

It just slips out. He knows that Rogers dislikes the honorific, has asked Bucky to call him ‘Steve’ over and over again, but he just doesn’t know how to.

He falls to his knees on the rug beside Rogers’ bed before his handler has time to chastise him. “Please,” he says. He knows that Rogers must be able to see his turgid cock and bare legs.

“Bucky, what –?” Rogers says, moving to get out from under the covers, where he was clearly getting ready to sleep.

Bucky bends over, pressing his forehead on the floor, and spreads his legs. Rogers must be able to see his pink anus now. He hopes that he won’t make him beg anymore. He closes his eyes, waits. He hears the shifting of Rogers’ big body on the bed, hears feet hitting the floor, and he braces again, and then tries to relax. It’s always easier when he relaxes.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and then Rogers’ steady voice. “Bucky, please get up.” There’s a tremor in it now, a shake Bucky doesn’t recognize, but it’s a direct order and he has to obey. Folding himself up off the floor and into standing. Staring just past Rogers’ shoulder at the far wall, with his balls hurting at the motion.

“Please,” Bucky says again, gritting his teeth.

“Bucky, please tell me what you need? I’ll give it to you, okay, but I gotta know what this is.”

The handler wants him to lay it out for him. He hates this, hates begging more than the fucking, but before he can open his mouth, Rogers is guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes flicking down to Bucky’s cock and then back up to his face. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks, a bashful sort of look that makes Bucky feel afraid.

“You’re allowed to masturbate, Bucky, okay? I’m giving you permission.”

As if on cue, his hand goes to his cock, but it feels like a trap and he can’t make himself move. The ache thrums in his pelvis, deep in his gut. He wants to move his hand, wants to obey. He shakes his head, ashamed, bracing for punishment for refusing a handler.

Rogers’ hands pet over his shoulders. His touch is gentle, almost kind, and that feels like a trap too.

“Is this like with the food? You can’t on your own?”

He doesn’t really understand the question. Doesn’t know what to say. They made him like this, a design. Rogers should know that, it should have been in his transfer files.

He doesn’t know how long they stay in silence, both breathing low and steady, then Rogers’ hand goes to his cock and Bucky’s toes curl into the rug just from that brief touch. He breathes hard through his nose. He doesn’t have permission to come.

The hand moves lower, feeling his balls, and the pain flares sharp and bright and Bucky wants to throw up.

“Jesus Chris Buck, these are rock hard! You haven’t come since you got here?!”

He shakes his head, feeling a sense of pride. “No. Ask Friday, I’ve been compliant.”

There’s a huff of breath, almost like a sob from Rogers, and a brief pressure over Bucky’s head. Almost like Rogers is kissing his crown, but he must be imagining it. A handler would never touch him like that.

“Buck,” Rogers says, sounding drawn. “With the serum, you have to take care of yourself with this. The high metabolism – Bucky, you have to – fuck, – you must be in so much pain.”

Bucky doesn’t know why Rogers is stating the obvious. Isn’t the pain the goal, after all?

“Okay, just –,” Rogers moves away from Bucky and to the nightstand, pulling open a drawer. He takes out a tube and Bucky’s shoulders sag. He’s going to use lube; it won’t be too bad then. Injuries should be minimised.

When Rogers comes back, he touches the side of Bucky’s bicep, looking down at his crotch. “Okay, I want you to hold your balls, okay, just so they don’t move around too much, okay?”

Bucky nods and takes his right hand to his testicles, grabbing hold of them. Pain flares sharp and sickening.

“Gently,” Rogers reminds him sharply and Bucky eases his hold. It’s not better exactly, but then Rogers wets his hand from the bottle. He doesn’t direct Bucky to turn around, or move at all really. Just takes his hand to Bucky’s cock, gripping the head in his slick hand. His fingers are wide and callused from the shield. Hard, working hands.

“You can come whenever you need to, okay. That’s an order,” Rogers says, and then he starts to stroke. Grip firm and solid around the sensitive head, moving the foreskin back and forth. The lube is slick and cool. Bucky’s toes curl and his thighs lock and he comes in only a second. He tries to not make any noise, swallowing down his cries. They never liked when he made noise. Well, not this kind of noise.

Rogers moves closer to him. His big, warm body pressed to Bucky’s side and hand still on Bucky’s cock. He’s still hard, but the pain has eased just a fraction.

Bucky leans his face against Rogers’ chest, smelling the sweat and soap that lingers in his t-shirt. The hand on his cock starts to move again, slower, longer strokes. Another wide, warm hand comes to his shoulder, holding him against Rogers’ body.

“You can come whenever you need to, Buck.”

This time it takes slightly longer, but still only a dozen or so strokes. Rogers works his cock gently through his orgasm, milking it, Bucky’s semen running over his fist.

He’s still hard.

Rogers doesn’t let go, running his thumb over the head of Bucky’s cock, a gentle back and forth that feels good amidst the mix of pain and pleasure.

Then Rogers squeezes Bucky’s shoulder, just once, and falls to his knees in front of him. Big palms over Bucky’s thighs. His face is serious, and Bucky can’t read him. He’s prided himself on being able to read his handlers, his superiors, but with Rogers, he can’t. He’s the great unknown, even if there’s a part of him that feels like he should know Rogers’ expressions better than his own.

Rogers keeps his eyes on Bucky’s face as he leans in and takes the wet head of Bucky’s cock in his mouth, tongue pressing against the still-weeping slit. Pressing and licking inside the foreskin.

Bucky has to close his eyes, break that gaze and count his breaths. _One. Two. Three._

 _This is_ not _the protocol_ , he wants to scream. He needs to make Rogers stop, and he never wants Rogers to stop. His left hand whirrs, his fist squeezing the bedding and the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t want to break anything.

Rogers slides Bucky’s cock deeper into his mouth, and then Bucky’s coming without any warning. Cock shooting off with a jerk. Rogers splutters, come sliding down his chin, and Bucky tries to scramble back, away from the hit that he knows is coming, his left hand coming up to protect his genitals. He hopes Rogers doesn’t have a shock baton under his bed.

But the hit never comes and he’s just left cowering on the bed. Pathetic.

Rogers is still kneeling by the bed, hand reaching out to him but not touching. “Hey, Buck, it’s okay. You just caught me off guard, yeah?”

Bucky stiffens, he shouldn’t, _shouldn’t_ say no to a handler, shouldn’t even indicate a denial, shouldn’t move away. He inches closer to Rogers, his body fighting it every step. Rogers climbs up to sit on the bed too. “The order was for you to come whenever you need to, that still stands, okay?”

Bucky nods dumbly. His cock is still hard, his balls ache, but the sharp pain is finally gone.

“Can I try again?” Rogers asks, and Bucky can only nod dumbly again.

Rogers crawls over to him and slides between his legs, fitting his mouth back over Bucky’s cock. It’s hot and wet and Bucky tries to not thrust up, tries to not move an inch. Rogers palms his thighs, running his calloused fingers over the skin, almost petting. _Gentle_. He makes no move to get at Bucky’s ass, which is still slick from the Vaseline.

Bucky comes again into Rogers’ mouth, thighs straining, and it feels so good. Not just on his cock, but the heavy weight of Rogers near him, the press of his shoulders on the inside of Bucky’s thighs, the way Bucky can dig his toes under Rogers’ sides, keeping them warm.

Rogers’ hands move up and over his sides, rubbing him down as he hums around Bucky’s cock, swallowing his come. He rubs Bucky’s belly over his t-shirt, a touch, he thinks, meant to calm more than to arouse.

Rogers pulls off with a pop, nosing down Bucky’s saliva-slick cock and down to his balls, taking them into his mouth, licking the sensitive skin behind, but he still doesn’t touch Bucky’s ass. It’s unnerving, that wait for the inevitable.

He works his way back up, hugging Bucky’s waist as he swallows his cock again, sliding it into the back of his throat. It still doesn’t take long, and Bucky lets himself come, lets his body lock in Rogers’ hold, lets everything white out for a brief moment.

When he opens his eyes, Rogers has rolled to his side, hands running over Bucky’s back and sides, over his hips and legs. It feels good, maybe better than Rogers’ mouth on his cock had, just the simple touch of a hand on skin.

“Let’s try something else, alright?” Rogers says, hands smoothing down Bucky’s belly like he expects disagreement. Then Rogers kicks off his sweatpants, reaching for the tube of lube forgotten momentarily on the edge of the bed. He flips it open and squeezes a liberal amount of gel onto his hands. Bucky can’t help but squeeze his legs together, still feeling the slickness of the Vaseline in his anus.

But instead, Rogers reaches behind himself, and it takes Bucky a moment to realize what he’s doing. He cranes his neck to see Rogers’ fingers disappearing between his ass cheeks. The slick squelch of lube in the air as he fingers himself.

It’s wrong, it’s so _wrong,_ and Bucky’s belly swoops with arousal.

Rogers lies back on the bed and coaxes Bucky between his spread legs. It feels terrifying, kneeling there with his thighs pressing against Rogers’ legs. His cock pressed into the cleft of Rogers’ ass. Bucky can see the pink, slick pucker of his hole. It looks small and tight and he’s suddenly gripped with the need not to hurt Rogers.

“I don’t – I don’t know how,” he stammers, not willing to refuse a handler, but he knows it will hurt.

Rogers is petting him, the side of his arm and his belly, his other hand between his legs, fingers spreading more lube around his hole. Bucky can see it twitching, contracting under Rogers’ fingers.

Rogers grips Bucky’s cock and guides him to press the tip against Steve’s rim. He feels unmoored, unsteady like a newborn foal.

“It’s okay, Buck, this’ll be easier, okay. You can just come as many times as you need to, okay?”

Rogers’ anus is tight when the tip of his cock presses in, resisting him, until Rogers angles his hips and Bucky slips inside, just to the tip, and the tight grip on the head is enough; he’s coming again. Pumping semen into Rogers’ channel. It makes everything wetter, dirtier, and Bucky moans. The sound escaping him before he can catch it.

Rogers’ hands slide over his shoulders, down over his sides as he murmurs encouragements, making low noises, hips twitching, inviting Bucky to move. He’s still so hard, needing to come and come and come, so he pushes.

“Steve,” he says, a shocked, hot sound, as he slides all the way inside, and Steve smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Yeah, Buck.” He sounds breathless, ass tightening around Bucky’s cock. He doesn’t look like it hurts, and Bucky wants to bury his head into Steve’s chest and hide his face.

Instead, he sets up a gentle rhythm, trying to do all the things no one ever did for him. Touching the sides of Steve’s legs, petting the same way Steve had done for him. Steve doesn’t seem to mind the metal hand, so he uses it, stroking Steve’s belly and chest, the dip of his sternum and his fat, pink cock.

He says “Steve,” again and comes, but it feels more like an afterthought, a pause that allows him to lean over Steve, to press them skin to skin, listen to the beat of Steve’s heart as close as any two people can ever be.

Then he starts the rhythm again, a slow pull and push. Steve is still so tight, Bucky can feel his muscles working. Steve reaches between them, slides his hand where they’re connected, his fingers teasing the base of Bucky’s cock and his own rim. His eyes are closed, mouth parted. His pink tongue pressed against his white, white teeth.

He doesn’t know why he does it, leaning down and tasting that open mouth.

He’d forgotten what a kiss was, what it felt like, but Steve kisses him back, as gentle and kind as the rhythm of the fucking between them.

He doesn’t even notice when he comes for the last time, slipping out of Steve almost by accident, flaccid and spent. But neither of them moves to disentangle themselves from each other for a while, breathing into skin, hands running over backs and thighs and sides.

Eventually, Steve gets up and goes to the bathroom, and Bucky can hear the tap running. The sheets smell of sex, of semen and male sweat, but for the first time it doesn’t make him gag, doesn’t make him want to wash himself.

Steve come out with a washcloth a few minutes later. He’s still naked and his skin gleams in the low light of the room.

He crawls back into bed and gently wipes Bucky’s belly and his cock, wipes between his legs and the sweat from his lower back. Bucky let himself be moved, lets Steve touch his limbs and rub his skin, and for the first time, it’s not about obedience. He wants this touch, this gentle care-taking that he’d forgotten could even exist.

When Steve moves to go, he reaches out, wrapping his hand around his wrist.

“Please,” he says, “don’t go,” and he’s shocked to realize it’s the first thing he’s asked for himself, the first thing he truly remembers wanting.

Steve smiles, but his eyes are wet. “Of course I won’t, Buck.”

He comes to lie by Bucky’s side, pressed together top to tail, and Bucky pulls his t-shirt off. It’s soaked in sweat and semen, but it had been a barrier of sorts, the only protection he’d allowed himself.

Steve hums and runs his lips over Bucky’s sternum, over the scarring and the metal seam of the arm. It whirrs and clicks like it doesn’t know what to do. Bucky can empathize. He doesn’t know where to touch, and his hands move restlessly over Steve’s skin, too hungry to stay still.

He falls asleep with his hands under Steve’s back and feet between his legs, face pressed into his shoulder. Steve’s hands are, in return, on his back, fingers running up and down his spine. It’s a gentle rhythm, of slow breaths and lingering words he feels like Steve isn’t saying.

That’s okay, he thinks, they have time now. They have hope.

 


End file.
